


To Valhalla

by yohlenyaoilover



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Ignores Season 4, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Odin fixes it, love making, major spoilers for season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yohlenyaoilover/pseuds/yohlenyaoilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3.</p><p>Ragnar dies and finally takes his place in Valhalla. His only heart ache is that Athelstan indeed made it to his Heaven and not the Pagan one.<br/>Craving the only man he trusted, Odin sees Ragnar's pain and makes it so the pair can find peace together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Valhalla

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking a lot of liberties here guys. Valhalla is a more like a giant field that everyone fights on, because I think the sky is nicer to fight under than a roof.  
> Odin likes to have little chit chats with people that make it to Valhalla apparently.  
> Ragnar might be a little OOC for some of you guys, but when it comes to Athelstan I think he is just a giant crying babby who wants lots of hugs and love.
> 
> I've ignored anything that happens at the end of Season 3 and all of Season 4 because I haven't even seen them yet. I just saw S3:E6 and noped right out of there. Needed to write something to fix what had happened.
> 
> Also ignoring how Ragnar is supposed to die, because I wanted him to go down in battle fighting like the champion he is.

Ragnar remembers the exact moment when he died, it burns clearly in his mind's eye as if it happened but a moment ago.  
It took four men armed in metal chain with helms and swords to take him down, something which Ragnar still takes pride in. The battle had been a fierce one. The clanging of metal and the vicious shouts of his men had spurred Ragnar in to a frenzy, slicing and stabbing and cutting.  
His downfall came when three men surrounded him, they'd managed to isolate him on the battlefield and charged as one. If it had been at the start of the battle when Ragnar was alert and his blood lust was fresh there would have been little trial in taking down these three soldiers. But the fight had dragged on, and age had slowed Ragnar's once quicker reflexes.  
He put up enough of a fight for a fourth solider to be called to aid and together the foreigners were true with their aim. A sword came down heavily upon Ragnar's shoulder, one pierced a large gash between his ribs. A third hit came to his back, cutting gracelessly at his spine and shoulder blade.  
Ragnar had grunted in pain, his knees buckled but he did not fall down. To his far left, Ragnar could see Rollo fighting to victory, he could see his beautiful son Bjorn Ironside screaming his war rage as he hacked at his opponent with his axe.  
The smell of blood and dirt filled Ragnar's nose, the grip on his own axe slackened. The fourth man, who had yet to deliver a striking blow, stepped forwards and took a moment to line up his blade.  
Ragnar Lothbrok looked death in the eyes and smiled.  
The solider's sword sank in to Ragnar's stomach, up, up, until it's sharp tip breached his heart. With his last shuddering breath, Ragnar tightened his grip upon the handle of his axe. He could feel the callouses from years of fighting and training tighten upon it's shaft.  
He swung the heavy weapon up and struck the soldier square in the neck. The man's life blood sprayed outwards in a gush, thickly coating Ragnar's face and chest.  
They both fell to the ground.  
And then Ragnar had opened his eyes to the bright blue skies of Valhalla. A soft breeze ruffled hair he had long since shaved off. His body felt lighter, the weight of the world had lifted from his shoulders.  
Before he could fully take in the beauty of his heaven, a looming shadow fell across his face. A deep, booming laughter filled the air and lightened his heart and Leif Erikson's beaming face came in to his view.  
"Ragnar Lothbrok!" The giant of a man reached down and grasped his hand, pulled Ragnar to his feet and encircled him in to a hug. Ragnar laughed joyfully and squeezed his friend back.  
"It's good to see you again, friend." Ragnar gasped in to Leif's shoulder. When their embrace ended, Ragnar cast his gaze about. As far as his eye could see there were warriors fighting, swinging swords and shields with joyful abandon. He recognised faces in the sea of men and women, Torstein was there, both arms attached and happily hacking at a young man. Torstig was there, who looked decades younger than when he had died at Ragnar's side in the battle at Northumbria. Kauko was there, Arne and Erik too.  
And there among the faces was a young man Ragnar never thought he would meet. The man bore a striking resemblance to Bjorn, and Ragnar's heart had stuttered in his chest for a moment to think that his oldest son had fallen in battle with him. But no, this man was slightly shorter, his shoulders narrower. He had Lagertha's nose and Ragnar's eyes.  
Leif clapped a strong hand down on to Ragnar's shoulder and beckoned the warrior over.  
"This, Ragnar Lothbrok, is Havardr. Your son."  
The breath from Ragnar's lungs rushed out of him uncontrollably. His eyes welled with tears of love and happiness. The young man, Havardr, stepped forwards uncertainly and waited. Ragnar gripped his face in his hands, brought their foreheads together and squeezed his eyes shut.  
"Hello, my son."  
With his words, it was as if the two had never been apart. They clung to each other, as farther and son, for the first time.  
"Havardr, that is a strong name. _The highest guardian_. Your mother and I had no time to name you before you were taken from us. Tell me, who gave you this name?" Ragnar took a half step backwards to give his son room to talk.  
"It was Odin who gave me my name, father." Havardr met his eyes with a fierce pride and Ragnar nodded his approval. Yes, this man was his son.  
Back when Lagertha had miscarried, Ragnar had questioned his gods. He had screamed at them to answer him, why would they take his son away from him? Why would they not have given him even the chance to hold him just once?  
But today, standing in Valhalla amongst his friends and his warriors, his arms still firmly on his son's shoulders, Ragnar could say that he understood. Odin had always had a greater plan than that on Midgard.  
"Come, join us in battle!" Leif interrupted, pulling at Ragnar's arm, directing him to a pile of weapons and shields scattered on the grass a few yards away from them. Ragnar laughed joyfully as he chose a shield painted in blue and white. The circles reminded him of Lagertha.

\--

Each day they fought and each night they dined in the great halls with the All Father and the many gods. Thor was always a thrill to behold, a particular favourite of Ragnar's. The god was loud and brash, he celebrated his happiness with yells and laughter. One time, much to their company's amusement, the god of thunder had beckoned to Ragnar. When the former King had made his way across the hall and sat at the god's side, Thor had given him the chance to inspect Mjölnir. He'd told him the story of the dwarven brothers Sindri and Brokkr who had forged the hammer. He told Ragnar of how the brothers had made an error in their forging, how the handle was much shorter than they had intended.  
Ragnar listened with rapt attention. Of course he knew this story, he'd grown up hearing it as a child. As did the countless warriors seated close enough to hear Thor's words but that didn't stop them from listening. When the story was finished, Thor lifted his tankard of ale and cried out in celebration. For another day was done, another glorious fight fought.  
Each day Ragnar would fight with all his heart. The battles were indeed glorious, the shouting echoed around the plains of Valhalla for all to hear. The sky lit up with pinks and blues, illuminating the great bridge and halls of the All Father in the distance. And each day, Ragnar would live in hope that he would catch a glimpse of dark hair pulled back in to a small braid, of blue eyes, widened and sure.  
Apparently Ragnar was obvious enough in his distractions that he'd caught the attention of his fellow warriors. His keen eyes had been scanning the faces of the men and women as they were arming themselves for another battle. The clanking of wood and metal was muted by soft words spoken at his side.  
"He isn't here Ragnar," Erik said quietly to him. Ragnar said nothing back. He knew it was pointless to joke, to ask who Erik had meant. Arne and Leif paused in their selection of weaponry and looked over to him, flashes of pain and grief in their own hearts.  
Ragnar grabbed a sword and turned, leaving them.  
Of course he knew in his heart that Athelstan would not have made it to Valhalla. Athelstan had renounced their gods at the very end, had discarded his arm ring.  
And Ragnar had tried his hardest to understand, he'd been respectful and had given the man the best Christian funeral he could have. Not for the first time since arriving in Valhalla, Ragnar reached inside his tunic and clasped at the gold chain that still hung around his neck. The cross pressed in to his palm, cutting in just enough to cause pain.  
Ragnar's heart clenched in grief. The day's fight felt longer than any previous.

\--

Time was strange here in Valhalla. Even though there was a clear day and night cycle, everything and everyone remained the same. When Ragnar had woken here, he was in a different body to the one he had died in. He was younger, stronger, at his peak. His braid was back, reaching down to his shoulder blades. His beard was shorter and his muscles fast and powerful. The tattoos that covered the cleanly shaven sides of his head stood out bold and striking.  
He wondered if the heartbreak he felt would ever change either.  
"Ragnar Lothbrok," Ragnar was pulled from his thoughts by a deep voice. He turned in place from where he was standing at a balcony observing Asgard. The feast was over for the night, many of the warriors had gone to enjoy each other's company and bodies in a way very different to fighting.  
Ragnar had retreated to this balcony though, it lived off to one side of the great hall. Being the curious man that he was, Ragnar had quickly taken to exploring as much of Odin's halls as he could. He had seen armouries the size of Kattegat itself, had seen gods and men alike enjoying themselves in the many rooms, beds made of soft furs and dim lights creating beautiful silhouettes against the walls.  
But by far this balcony right here was his favourite place to be. It looked out on to all of Asgard. He could see the fields of Valhalla, the bridge Bifrost that connected Asgard and Midgard. And right now he could also see Odin, the All Father stood beside him.  
"You are a great warrior, Ragnar Lothbrok," Odin lent down, his hands resting on the stone rampart. Words left the former King, how did one respond to the All Father praising your skills in battle? "You are great and truely my descentant, but I see a terrible pain inside of you."  
Ragnar sucked in a breath and turned his eyes away from Odin. He wished no disrespect here, he had fought long and hard in his life on Midgard to be part of Odin's army in Valhalla. His heart should sing with joy each day and yet it didn't.  
"I know what ails you, young warrior," Odin's one eye was set fast upon the side of Ragnar's head, "I wish for you to find your peace."  
Ragnar sucked in a sharp breath and whipped his head back around to meet the aged face of the All Father.  
"It will be arranged."  
Ragnar still said nothing. His body was frozen in place, one hand half way though stroking his beard, the other clenching the rampart blindly. Odin surely could not have the power to bring Ragnar's truest desire to fruition. He was not of Christianity. How could he arrange something so unheard of?  
A sudden calmness washed over Ragnar. He had doubted Odin enough in his living years, he had questioned the All Father's decision to take his unborn son, and yet here Havardr was. Strong and healthy and fierce in his passion for battle.  
So Ragnar would wait patiently and have faith in his gods.

\--

"Father, tell me of my brothers," Havardr and Ragnar were laying back on the cool grass, celebrating another victory. Around them lay many others, blood and filth spread far and wide. It smelt like home.  
Arne was defeated, his head hacked partly from his body. Torstein and Leif lay side by side, panting and laughing up at the bright clear skies. Kauko had several stab wounds to his chest and sides.  
"Bjorn Ironside is a strong and mighty warrior," Ragnar spoke fervently. He always enjoyed celebrating his sons, "Ubbe and Hvitserk are mischievous. They enjoy running around Aslaug, their mother. It is fun to watch them torment the woman. Sigurd Snake-in-the-eye is destined for greatness. He has the serpent-dragon Fafnir in his right eye."  
Here, Ragnar paused for a moment. Havardr glanced over at him and questioned him with his eyes.  
"And what of your youngest son?"  
"Ivar the Boneless is my youngest son. He was born of a prophecy forewarning his poor health. His legs were twisted and weak. I took him and left his fates to the gods but whichever one was looking at him that day spared him. When I returned home, he was there in his mother's arms. Warm and safe. Odin surely looks down on him in favour."  
Ragnar shifted on his back, bringing his arms up behind his head. The grass tickled at the back of his hands.  
"Odin is a great and forgiving god," Havardr nodded in agreement.

\--

Each night they feasted, Ragnar would look to the head of the table laden with food and ales. And each night the All Father would look back at him knowingly.

\--

Three faces Ragnar did not think would greet him jovially were those of Earl Haraldson, King Horik and Jarl Borg. Here in Valhalla it seemed that the men had found their peace. There were no grudges and no revenge here in the presence of the gods. Haraldson had finally been reunited with his sons, so viciously taken from him.  
King Horik and Jarl Borg drank and ate and fought together as friends and rivals, happily spending their days battling with their respective sons by their sides and filling the great halls with their laughter.  
Ragnar spent many an evening both watching and taking part in their mirthful conversations, reliving the greatest moments of their lives. Stories were as much a part of the afterlife as they were back when Ragnar was living.  
Some days he would get a pang of longing for his other sons in his chest, but the feelings were quickly soothed when he would glance over at Havardr. His other sons would join him in Valhalla when they, and the gods, were good and ready.

\--

It could have been years or hours since their talk on the balcony, Ragnar would never know. But one battle in Valhalla ended with Odin striding amongst his fallen warriors on his steed Sleipnir. The horse's eight legs were strong but cautious enough not to tread on any of the fallen men or women.  
Odin stopped in front of Ragnar, whose face was covered in blood and gore. The axe in his hands dropped, a dull thunk reverberated in his chest as it hit the blood soaked ground.  
"Join me, Ragnar Lothbrok," Odin fixed his eye upon the former King. Ragnar nodded and dropped the splintered shield in his other hand.  
They walked for acres like that; Odin on his steed and Ragnar by his side. They did not talk. When Ragnar's feet began to tire and his throat ached for ale to quench his thirst, Odin pulled his mighty steed to a stop.  
The landscape around them was mountainous and grey. It could easily have been mistaken for Kattegat's surrounding hills if Ragnar did not know better. The only building in sight however was a small hut. The two approached it, it's walls were made of wooden logs and straw upon its sharply sloping roof. It's width would have been covered in two long strides of Ragnar's legs.  
Here Odin turned his mighty Sleipnir and began the slow walk back. No words were passed between them but Ragnar knew in his heart that Odin was aware of how grateful he was for this moment.  
Ragnar stilled his lightly shaking hands before pulling open the small door. The wood was sun-warmed beneath his fingers. He had to bend slightly to fit in the small doorway but once inside he stretched back to his full height. He felt the gore from his battle in Valhalla disappear, he was cleansed. Ragnar recognised the sights and smells of the room he was in. It was much larger inside this hut than outside.  
This was his bedroom back in his farm home, before he became Earl, before he became King. He could smell Lagertha here, her delicate scent permeated the very air. Ragnar took a long moment to take in the comforts this room gave him, the happy memories he had made here. His fingers brushed through the furs of his bed.  
A door softly opened to his left, one he didn't notice on his first sweeping glance of the room. His eyes snapped up, alert and attentive to who would be entering. Ragnar knew who it would be. He knew, believed with all his heart and yet the sight still took his breath away.  
_Athelstan._  
The younger man stepped over the threshold with a warm smile and even warmer eyes. The door closed silently behind him and Ragnar choked on his words. He was frozen in place, his legs were suddenly made of the metals that formed their swords, his feet had grown roots that sank deeply in to the ground beneath him.  
Ragnar did not blink for he feared that if he stopped looking at Athelstan even for a second the other man would disappear.  
"Ragnar," Athelstan's soft and gentle voice cracked through Ragnar's chest. He gasped out a sob and fell in to Athelstan's arms. He wrapped him up so tightly against his chest and the priest felt warm and real, a solid body against his own. Tears leaked from his eyes against his will. Ragnar turned his head and took in a deep breath, taking in the smell of Athelstan's hair. He smelt just as he remembered. Ragnar did not want to let go. This man was stolen from him far too soon once before and he wasn't ready for it to happen again.  
Athelstan laughed softy in to Ragnar's shoulder and snuggled deeper in to his embrace.  
"I've missed you too."  
Athelstan took half a step back and pulled Ragnar's arms from around him, instead linking their fingers. His eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, scanned Ragnar's face and in turn allowed Ragnar to scan his.  
Athelstan looked younger than when he had died. His hair was a little shorter, it fell in soft waves down to his jaw. His beard was soft and full on his chin, well kept. Ragnar let his hands explore his body. Athelstan's shoulders were weaker, his muscles only just beginning to tighten and strengthen from training and battles.  
Ragnar's fingers slid down to the other man's wrist and his heart shuddered in his chest. His fingers brushed along the metal of Athelstan's arm ring. The twisted metal was warmed by Athelstan's own heat. Another tear fell from Ragnar's eye.  
"Ragnar, look at me," Athelstan brought his own hands up to Ragnar's face, cupping his cheeks with his clean fingers, "Thank you for what you did for me at the end. For burying me, for delivering me to my Lord."  
Ragnar bit his lip harshly, he wanted the skin to break, he wanted to taste blood. This man that stood before him was too pure, light shone from him so brightly that Ragnar wanted to shield his eyes.  
"It wasn't enough," Ragnar choked out, "I should have protected you-"  
"Shh, hush Ragnar." Athelstan interrupted him. He gently brought their mouths together in a brief kiss. Ragnar was weak and he clung once more to the other man, "I wouldn't have changed a single thing that happened in that life."  
"But you-" Ragnar began but was interrupted once again.  
"No. Everything that happened held it's own purpose. I've accepted this Ragnar, I wish you could too." Athelstan's eyes were stern and Ragnar couldn't help but let out a little disbelieving laugh.  
"What has happened to my shy and quiet little priest?" Ragnar nudged their foreheads together, "When did you become so bold?"  
Athelstan let out his own little laugh and ran a hand along Ragnar's hair, down until he curled the braid around his palm.  
"How is it possible that we are both here, together?" Ragnar questioned, his eyes fixed on Athelstan's once more. The priest shrugged his shoulders slightly and let his own eyes glide down to the golden chain that hung around Ragnar's neck.  
"I think both of our gods are grateful that we were open and accepting of each other's. My Lord's word has been corrupted and distorted over the years through man's teachings. He looks upon you and sees a willingness to accept Him. I think that is enough." Athelstan fingered the cross at Ragnar's chest, brought it up to his lips and kissed the cool metal. Ragnar joined him, kissing the cross' other side. Their lips met around the metal until Athelstan let the cross drop and focused his attentions solely on Ragnar.  
His lips were soft and warm, their beards brushed together. Ragnar opened his mouth, his tongue seeking solace inside Athelstan's willing mouth.  
A deep ache inside Ragnar's chest began to shift, it lifted up and away from him, guided gently by Athelstan's hands as they found their way to Ragnar's tunic. It fell away from his shoulders until he stood exposed. His chest was broad and strong and steady. Athelstan turned them both and eased Ragnar backwards until his knees hit the bed. He sat down, pulling Athelstan with him, disposing of the priest's robes as they went.  
It was warm in this room though no fire was present. Their bodies fit together perfectly, Athelstan's hip brushed a steady rhythm against Ragnar's.  
Ragnar ran a hand through those dark locks encouragingly, urging his own hips upwards, feeling himself harden in his breeches.  
"Athelstan," Ragnar moaned in to his mouth, desperate. Athelstan responded by sucking lightly on his tongue before pulling away to focus his attentions on his neck and chest. Athelstan rained kisses down upon him, his quick fingers making light work of the laces at Ragnar's crotch. When his breeches were opened, Ragnar wiggled himself out of them. The air on his swelling cock was pleasant.  
Athelstan sat back on his haunches and took in the sight of the man in front of him.  
"You are truly beautiful, Ragnar," Athelstan's slim fingers gripped Ragnar's swollen shaft and gave it a few light strokes, pulling the foreskin back to expose the shiny head.  
"You are the one of beauty, my Athelstan," Ragnar guided his head back down, leaning up to meet him half way in a delicious kiss. They shared breath for a while, enjoying each other's warmth. Ragnar used his tongue to coax soft whimpers from Athelstan, mapped out the other's mouth and committed every detail to memory.  
"Ragnar, please," Athelstan panted against his mouth, "Please, I need you."  
"Tell me what you need, I will give it all to you," Ragnar nuzzled his face in to the crook of Athelstan's neck, breathing in deeply.  
"Make me yours. Only yours," That soft voice whispered so gently above him. Ragnar took Athelstan's hips in his hands and rolled them, pulling them further up the bed until they were both settled comfortably amongst the furs. Athelstan's eyes were so blue, wide and bright as he looked up at Ragnar. Athelstan looked at him as if he was the sun, as if he could change his world with just a few words.  
"I love you," Ragnar breathed them, right there against Athelstan's slightly parted lips. He had only said these words about his sons, neither Lagertha nor Aslaug had heard them and yet here he was, for a second time saying them out loud to this man.  
Athelstan blinked slowly once but didn't look away. He took Ragnar's hands in his, briefly kissing his finger tips before pulling them down, down between his own legs that had fallen apart to allow room for Ragnar.  
He guided one hand to his own arousal, the other lower still to his hidden furled hole.  
"Take me Ragnar," Athelstan kissed right below his ear, his hair tickled Ragnar's face. Ragnar moved his hands, curled the fingers of one hand around Athelstan's hard cock and stroked slow and firm. The other hand pressed forwards, one finger pushing inside the priest.  
"Here, use this," Athelstan produced a small bowl, from where Ragnar could not guess. But they were in a place between Heaven and Valhalla so he chose not to question it too much. The bowl was filled with a slick oil. Ragnar extracted his hand from between Athelstan's thighs and dipped his fingers in the oil before returning to his previous task. His finger sank in with ease this time, Athelstan breathed deeply in appreciation. Ragnar added a second.  
"More, give me more," The dark haired man below moved his hips in an intoxicating fashion, caught between pushing up in to Ragnar's firm fist around his cock and pressing back to take more of those delicious fingers inside him.  
Only when a light sweat had broken out across Athelstan's skin did Ragnar increase his rhythm. He added in a third slicked finger, pressing in as far as he could. His other fist added a twist to each stroke, his thumb rubbing any slick Athelstan produced around the head.  
Athelstan moaned wantonly beneath him, the sight of him spread out like this, head thrown back and arms clutching at Ragnar's shoulders took the former King's breath away.  
"I want to enter you now," Ragnar lent down and bit lightly at Athelstan's collar bone. The priest nodded earnestly in assent.  
"Yes, now please, have me,"  
Those soft words sent waves of pleasure coursing through Ragnar's strong body. His own cock jumped where it rest against his thigh. He pulled his fingers free and moved until his body was fully covering Athelstan's, pulling his legs up and around his waist. He gently guided the head of his cock to the delicately slicked hole, pushing in as slowly as his limited patience would allow.  
Athelstan hissed quietly but did nothing to stop him. Ragnar eased both of Athelstan's hands away from his shoulders, manoeuvring him until his arms were above his head. Ragnar kissed each of his palms, free from the scars of his crucifixion now, then lent back and linked their fingers together.  
When he was fully seated inside his priest, Ragnar paused. He gave Athelstan as long as he need to adjust to Ragnar's significant size. He could feel the walls of flesh around him clenching and releasing him, making his breath stutter and catch. This was perfect, this moment right here. Ragnar never wanted this to end.  
"Move Ragnar, please move." Athelstan opened his big blue eyes and looked in to Ragnar's. Looked so deep it was as if he was seeing the very soul he believed Ragnar to have. And then they started moving. No more words were said, their rhythm was something unspoken between them, the push and pull of their bodies created a beautiful friction.  
Ragnar couldn't breathe. He'd never been with anyone like this before, he felt his very core shaking with his desire for the man below him.  
His pace quickened, he pulled almost fully out before pushing back in. Soon the sounds of their flesh slapping together filled the room, their breathing became erratic. Athelstan squeezed his hands tightly where they were still linked together. Ragnar must have been heavy above him but the younger man did not complain. Instead he keened eagerly and met each of the Viking's thrusts. His cock lay hard and abandoned between their bellies, it's only contact the friction caused when they pushed together closely.  
Athelstan moaned particularly loudly and Ragnar froze, scared he had gone too quickly and hurt the man beneath him. But Athelstan only wiggled his hands free and pushed his hips up in encouragement. One hand took up a grip on Ragnar's backside, squeezing and pushing him to keep going, the other hand tangled around his braid and yanked.  
And just like that their pace changed. Ragnar re-balanced his weight, taking more on to his hands as his hips started up a brutal pace. Athelstan let out a wild moan and yanked again upon Ragnar's braid. His sharp teeth sank in to Ragnar's collarbone, hard enough that the skin there broke.  
Ragnar moaned and fucked the man below him with all of his passions. With a free hand he reached down and took Athelstan's swollen prick, tugging furiously in time with their savage pace.  
Far too quickly, Athelstan was bucking up in to his hand and spilling between them. His inner walls clenched, fluttering around Ragnar who fucked him through his orgasm. Delicate pearls of his seed reached as far as Athelstan's collar and Ragnar longed to lean down and taste him. He wanted to share that sweet flavour between them. But Athelstan's hand still tangled in his hair prevented him from doing so.  
"Keep going,"Athelstan panted, tugging his head down so they could share a desperate kiss. Ragnar pulled out as far as he could before thrusting back inside in one long, sure stroke. He pressed against that place inside Athelstan that made his thighs shake. Ragnar wanted nothing more than to commit that exquistely pale flesh shivering against him to memory for the rest of time.  
Ragnar's own thighs were starting to burn with the effort of his thrusts, he must have been causing Athelstan some discomfort by now but the dark haired man below him took all of him without complaint. His eyes had become half closed, but no less attentive. With a final tug on his braid and whispered words of encouragement, Ragnar pushed inside as far as he could and spilled his load.  
Athelstan sighed in complete contentment and pulled Ragnar down to lay beside him, his spent cock slipping from him with a wet sound.  
"I love you, Ragnar Lothbrok," Athelstan whispered against the damp skin of his throat.  
They lay there together for an eternity, gently brushing fingers over warm skin. For the first time truly exploring and knowing each other's bodies. Somehow, even though Ragnar knew this moment would have to end soon, that he would return to Valhalla and Athelstan to Heaven, his heart was light and free from the crushing pain it had previously held.  
Somehow he knew this wouldn't be the last time he got to see his beautiful Athelstan.  
Slowly and reluctantly the two began to dress, pulling on robes and tunics. Ragnar captured Athelstan's wrist and laid a kiss upon first his unmarred palm and then his sacred arm ring. Athelstan returned the gesture by kissing the golden cross that had returned to its place around Ragnar's neck.  
"We will see each other again," Athelstan said with conviction, his eyes bright and unwavering. Ragnar smiled and laid a gentle kiss one last time upon Athelstan's delicate lips.  
"Yes," He whispered back.  
And then he had to watch as Athelstan walked to the door in which he had entered. Ragnar had to shield his eyes from the bright light that shone on the other side, but it didn't seem to affect the priest.  
When the door clicked shut again, Ragnar turned and left his old bedroom. The skies of Asgard were as beautiful as he had left them, but somehow they shone a little brighter now. The blues just a little closer to that perfect shade he craved to see.


End file.
